


new tactics

by salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)



Series: an unorthodox method of teaching [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Strong Language, bronn's fault for using the c-word so much, i'm sorry but that's just canon, jaime gets turned on by being pushed around, mild violence, tyrion is a matchmaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: Bronn decides to try a new tactic to help Jaime with his sparring practice, only it doesn't quite get the reaction he expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [roqueamadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi) for prompting me to continue this! This is technically a continuation of 'again' but it can also be a stand-alone so no worries about reading that first!

It wasn’t difficult to learn Jaime’s schedule, nor to find where he was at any given moment.  He was the sort of man other people paid attention to, and not just because he was the queen’s brother, or the Kingslayer, or whatever else people knew him for.  He was just that sort of man.

Bronn thought, privately, that it might have had something to do with the glittery armour and the pretty face, but maybe it was just because his name was Lannister.  Either way, when he asked a loitering page where Ser Jaime was, the page knew that Jaime was with the queen in her receiving rooms, and had been for most of the morning since being summoned by her.

“She doesn’t like to be disturbed!” the page called after him, but Bronn took no notice.  He wasn’t a fool; he wasn’t going to disturb Cersei.  Truth be told, he’d rather not linger too close because he really _didn’t_ want to hear what might be going on in her rooms (okay, so he did, a _little_ ) but Jaime would surely be in a good mood when he left, so he was less likely to get stroppy with Bronn for this latest ‘lesson’ he’d devised.

Bronn scouted the area around the queen’s doors, eyeing the two Kingsguard (or were they Queensguard, now?) outside and making sure to stay out of their line of sight.  The cloisters were easy enough to see through, though attacking Jaime amongst them was inadvisable; Bronn doubted Jaime would be able to overpower him in a fight, even operating on instinct, but the white cloaks would surely step in if they saw a sellsword tackling their sworn brother to the ground.

Instead he decided to wait, standing beside a closed door as though he’d been stationed there to keep guard and keeping a casual eye out for when Jaime took his leave.  He’d follow him at a distance until he was sure they were as alone as they could be, then he’d make his move.  

Jaime was—slowly—improving in their sparring sessions, but he still tried to fight like a bloody _knight_ , like every bout was a tourney round instead of a life-or-death fight for survival.  He couldn’t afford to hold onto those pretty ideals but, as much as Bronn told him so each time he knocked Jaime into the dirt, it was difficult to drum a lifetime’s worth of training out of him.

He was hoping that catching Jaime off-guard would force him to operate solely on instinct, instinct he could _rely_ on rather than old habit that made him reach for a sword with his right hand when he only had a split-second in which to reach for it.  

Bronn hoped it proved successful as Jaime was a master at sulking and if it didn’t, Bronn could pretty much guarantee that he wouldn’t see the idiot for a week or more following.  Not that he _minded_ —he had plenty to do—but he’d grown rather used to Jaime’s regular company these days.

Removing a small knife from his belt, Bronn set to cleaning out his fingernails as he kept a look out for any movement around Cersei’s doors.  Waiting around for people was never the most glamorous way to spend his time, but Bronn had gotten used to it over the years; being a sellsword involved a lot of nasty, bloody work but also a lot of _this_ when he was in someone’s employ.  Unfortunately, being someone’s bodyguard tended to be a lot more standing-around-looking-threatening than it was actually carrying out threats and fighting off attackers.  That, see, was the downside to having a deterrent.  It deterred people from starting fights.  (Maybe it was really an upside, but Bronn often got _bored_ and he was a simple man with simple pleasures—sometimes, he just really wanted to stick his knife in someone).

Still, despite all the practice at patiently waiting around, Bronn perked up when he heard the door open and Cersei’s raised voice from within—she didn’t sound very happy, but then again, she rarely did.  The door slammed shut behind Jaime, who paused to speak to the guards outside—he was too far away for Bronn to hear what was said, but they both nodded at him as he started away.  

This was his chance.  

Bronn kept out of sight long enough to see which way Jaime was turning and gave him a start of a handful of seconds before strolling purposefully after him, tucking his dagger away.  A life of sneaking places he shouldn’t be had taught Bronn that, in general, if you acted like you belonged somewhere, people were far less likely to question you on what you were doing there.  Particularly if you had a sword strapped to your belt.

From the way Jaime was walking, Bronn was pretty sure he _wasn’t_ in the good mood he’d anticipated, but he’d gone to too much effort to quit now.  He followed Jaime through half a dozen corridors that had other people passing through, most of whom glanced at Jaime then ignored both he and Bronn in equal measure, and Bronn was beginning to worry that they’d get all the way back to White Sword Tower without an opportunity ever presenting itself.

Then he rounded a corner into an empty corridor and Bronn paused for half a dozen of Jaime’s strides, listening for voices or other nearby footsteps that suggested they’d soon have company.  When none were apparent, he _sprinted_.  There was only a short distance to cover, but Jaime half-turned—too late—in the time it took Bronn to cross it.

Bronn collided with him _hard_ and they both went flying backwards, Jaime in a graceless tumble, Bronn with purpose as he wrapped an arm around Jaime’s neck and a leg around his thigh to turn and trap him.  Jaime let out nothing more than an ‘ _oof_ ’ as he was tackled and twisted viciously, his elbow jamming into Bronn’s shoulder hard enough for his grip to loosen in surprise.  It was followed by a sharp crack to the skull with the metal hand and when Bronn reeled backwards, Jaime squirmed surprisingly effectively to free himself from his grip, kicking out against him.  He nearly managed to get to his feet before Bronn dragged him down again.

By then, Jaime had realised who’d ambushed him and was busy cursing Bronn’s name through all seven hells as he found himself pinned, not bothering to fight back once it was clear there was no actual danger.  

“What are you _doing_?” Jaime demanded furiously, and he definitely wasn’t in a good mood.  

“Just testing summat out.  You _do_ have instincts, you nearly got away from me just now.  You just don’t _use_ them when we train,” Bronn said, not moving from atop Jaime’s hips as he looked thoughtfully down at him.  “I think I’m not being hard enough on you.”  Clearly, when Jaime thought he was in a real fight, he was much more capable of fighting viciously—and effectively.  Not to mention actually using the metal hand; more often than not, Jaime’s right arm was held uselessly by his side while he focused on the sword in his left, but he’d just clocked Bronn around the head with it something dreadful.  He’d have a huge bruise tomorrow morning, he was sure.

“I _try_ to use instinct but my instincts are _wrong_ ,” Jaime scowled, bending a knee to try and dislodge Bronn.  “Get off me, someone’s going to _see_.”

“See what?” Bronn asked innocently, arching an eyebrow and deliberately not moving.  “If you want me to get off, make me.”

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime gritted out.  “I’m not in a japing mood.”

No, Bronn could see that.  He still didn’t move.  “Good,” he said.  “Maybe that’ll help.  Maybe someone _will_ come.  Maybe I’ll call out for someone and make sure they do.  You wanna be on your back when they get here?” 

Bronn sucked in a breath as though to yell out and Jaime reacted at once.  

“No!” he gasped, and lurched upright, shoving at Bronn’s shoulders with both hands.  It might have worked if Bronn hadn’t been expecting it and prepared for the motion, planted firmly in place so Jaime couldn’t dislodge him so easily.  He brought his own hands up between Jaime’s arms and knocked his hands to either side before slamming them into Jaime’s chest and forcing him back against the stone floor.

Jaime blinked at him dazedly for a moment, his eyes oddly bright as he blinked a few times, stunned.  Bronn stared back, a little surprised and slightly worried that he’d accidentally smacked Jaime’s head into the stone floor; he’d expected him to complain and fight back, not simply _lie_ there.

“ _What_ are you trying to prove?” Jaime demanded breathlessly, recovering.  He shifted uncomfortably beneath Bronn, scowling up at him but a flush was spreading across his cheeks and it ruined the irate image somewhat.  “Let me up, this is _ridiculous_.  If Cersei sees—”

Bronn rolled his eyes.  “Sees _what_?”  Honestly, Jaime worried so much about what Cersei would think of the things he was doing, Bronn would’ve thought she was his damned mother if he didn’t know better.  Still, Jaime was beginning to look truly uncomfortable now so Bronn shifted to move off of him when he stopped dead and stared down in gleeful surprise.  Jaime was unmistakably _hard_ beneath him, and suddenly refusing to meet his gaze.

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime said to the wall beside them through gritted teeth.  “Get up.  Get _off_.”   

He was truly red-faced now, and closed his eyes, mortified, when Bronn chuckled.  “Been a while, has it, Kingslayer?”  He couldn’t help but roll his hips and grind down, watching as Jaime’s breath visibly stuttered and his hips bucked.

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime said again.  He was utterly rigid against the floor, not daring to move a muscle despite the fact that Bronn had clearly _noticed_ his...situation.

Bronn found himself fascinated and more than a little taken by just how _pink_ Jaime had turned.  He had no intention of moving, but the panic that flashed across Jaime’s face when they heard footsteps approaching was enough to dissuade him.  He rolled off and got to his feet, offering a hand to Jaime, which was ignored.

At soon as he was no longer pinned, Jaime leapt to his feet and brushed himself off, pointedly turning his back to Bronn as he did so.  “I have to go,” he muttered.  “I’ll thank you _not_ to _attack_ me again.”  His voice lacked its usual bite, instead sounding a little hoarse.  

Jaime strode away without another glance at Bronn, who stared after him in amazement.  Of all the things he’d expected, _that_ hadn’t been one of them.  Especially not given Jaime’s reaction to it—Bronn had never seen him embarrassed before.  He quite liked it—flushed and aroused was a good look on Jaime (not that anything, it seemed, was a _bad_ look on Jaime, which was about the one thing everyone in the Seven Kingdoms could probably agree on).

He was nearly at the end of the corridor when Bronn couldn’t hold back any longer and called out.

“Jaime!”

Jaime paused but didn’t turn back, and Bronn smirked.

“You know...I wouldn’t say no,” he said loudly.  

Jaime started walking again immediately, not dignifying it with a response.  Bronn had expected that, but it didn’t matter; if he knew Jaime—and he liked to think that he did—he knew the other man would spend so long trying _not_ to think about what he’d said that he’d end up thinking about it all the time.  And if that was the end of that, then so be it—Bronn took a great amount of pleasure in simply winding Jaime up.  

But if that _wasn’t_ the end of that, well, Bronn truly _wouldn’t_ say no.  

Their next sparring session was going to be very interesting indeed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [roqueamadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi) for prompts and encouragement, all that good stuff!

Bronn should have expected it.  He _had_ , really.  But he’d thought—stupidly—that Jaime might get over himself in his own time.  He almost hadn’t gone down to their sparring place himself the first time since the afternoon he’d tackled Jaime, because he’d known full well that the other man wouldn’t show up.  He’d gone in the end, mostly to prove the point to himself but also because he knew that he’d have felt bad on the off-chance that Jaime _had_ shown up, especially after what had happened last time.

The little platform abutting the clifface to the sea had been empty, of course.  Bronn had sat on the stone ledge for a while in case Jaime showed up before calling it a day and heading back into the city to carry on with his own life.  That first time, he’d expected Jaime’s absence.

The second time, well.  Bronn probably ought to have expected that as well.  He’d sent a message to remind Jaime about it beforehand, even though they sparred at the same times on the same days every single week, but he hadn’t received a reply.  Still, Bronn had made the trek down to their sparring area and didn’t find hide nor hair of Jaime.

Fucking _typical_.  

“Your brother alright?” Bronn had casually asked Tyrion the next day, sprawled across an armchair while the other man wrote letters or made notes in a book or whatever other scholarly shit he was doing over at his desk.

Tyrion had glanced up at that.  “Jaime?” he asked, and Bronn rolled his eyes.

“You got another brother I oughta know about?  _Yes_ , Jaime.”

“He seemed fine last I spoke to him,” Tyrion replied, before his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Why?  What have you done to him?”

Bronn lifted both hands.  “I haven’t done anything to him,” he said.  “He’s been missing our sessions, is all.”

“Oh,” Tyrion said, and set his quill down in surprise.  “He didn’t mention that.”

“No?  Well, he didn’t mention it to me, either, so I’m the dumb cunt’s been sitting around waiting for him,” Bronn said as he got to his feet.  “When you see him, tell him I’m charging double from now on and if he doesn’t show up again, he can find himself another sellsword to wait on him.  I’ve got shit to do.”

“What have _you_ got to do?” Tyrion asked, mock-puzzled as he watched Bronn stroll through the door.  “I’ll pass your message along!” he called out after him, frowning to himself.  Bronn had gotten along with his brother better than even Tyrion had guessed, but he was still surprised that Bronn had bothered asking after him—he wasn’t the most caring friend one could choose.

It wasn’t like Jaime to miss a training session, either; swordplay was the one thing Jaime had always dedicated himself to with almost alarming determination, despite refusing to apply himself to anything else their father demanded of him, much to Tywin’s frustration.

_Something_ was going on there, and Tyrion made a mental note to find out exactly what.

 

* * *

 

The third time, Bronn was angry.  

He’d told Tyrion that Jaime could find someone else to train him if he didn’t bother showing up again, but Bronn wasn’t going to just let it go so easily.  Jaime had been making good progress with him and, quite honestly, Bronn enjoyed their evenings together.  

_There_ , he’d admitted it.  

He enjoyed their evenings down here where there were no courtiers or queen-sisters or duties or anything else, where Jaime seemed more like _himself_ , even occasionally _laughed_ , and he wasn’t going to give them up just because Jaime couldn’t get his head out of his ass and realise that getting aroused while sparring with Bronn wasn’t the end of the world.

Bronn wasn’t even sure what the big deal was—he’d made it clear that _he_ didn’t mind (and he really, _really_ didn’t mind).  In fact, Bronn had been _very_ pleased to get a reaction like that from Jaime, and he’d thought about that afternoon and how it _might_ have gone on several nights since as he’d spilled into his own hand.

So he gathered up the sparring swords and marched all the way to White Sword Tower, hoping that Jaime was actually in his rooms because he wanted to confront him now while he was still angry enough to do it properly.

Bronn banged on the closed door with nothing even remotely approaching politeness.

“I’m busy,” Jaime called from inside.  “And I’m not on duty.”

Bronn simply turned the handle and shouldered the door open, watching as Jaime shot upright from where he’d been lying—clearly ‘‘busy’’ doing shit all—across his bed.

“ _Bronn_?  What are you doing here?”  

Jaime got to his feet and watched Bronn with a guilty, shifty look on his face that told Bronn that Jaime knew _exactly_ what time it was and where he was supposed to be right now.

“Remembered me, have ya?” Bronn said sharply, tossing the bag with the sparring swords at Jaime’s feet.  “Where the fuck have you been?”

Jaime took a step back so the bag didn’t crash into him and refused to meet Bronn’s gaze.  “ _Here_ , I’ve been...busy, I have... _duties_ , you know,” Jaime said hastily, and he’d always been a piss-poor liar but this was really something else.  

“Oh aye?  Duties, have ya?  What _duty_ do you have that involves lazing in your bed doing nothing when you’re _supposed_ to be training, huh?” Bronn shot back.

“Tyrion _said_ that you were going to quit, I didn’t want to waste your time, but—”

“You _want_ me to quit, is that it?” Bronn demanded, growing more incensed by the second.  “But you didn’t have the fucking balls to tell me yourself?  Honestly, Jaime, I never took you for a fucking coward.  You think I give a fuck if a bit of sparring turns you on?”

Jaime’s face was a picture of panic as he shot across the room to slam the door shut.  “Shut up!” he hissed frantically.  “The other Kingsguard live here, you know!”

Bronn snorted.  “I’m sure your little pals already know you get off on a good fight,” he said, though he did lower his voice a bit.

“That’s _not_ what it is,” Jaime snapped, and immediately regretted it as Bronn’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh?  So what is it?” he asked, turning to fully face Jaime and deliberately stepping forward so Jaime was trapped between an angry sellsword and the door at his back.  “Getting your ass kicked?  You like that?”

Jaime made a good attempt at rolling his eyes like the entire conversation was beneath him and tried to edge around Bronn, who simply threw an arm out to catch him across the chest.

“No,” Bronn said.  “You’re gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is and we’re gonna sort it out, ‘cause I ain’t quitting.  So best tell me now instead of wasting all night dancing round the issue.  D’you think I care?  Trust me, Jaime, I’ve bedded men and women a lot less pretty than you and counted myself lucky for it.”

Jaime, whose mouth had opened to argue somewhere along the way, shut it.  Bronn said nothing and simply watched him for a long, silent moment as Jaime’s face slowly turned more pink and he apparently found something rivetingly interesting on the floor near Bronn’s boots.

“I didn’t...I don’t want to quit sparring,” Jaime said eventually.  He tried sidling out from around Bronn again and this time Bronn let him, turning to watch as Jaime crossed several paces to put some distance between them.  

“Well that doesn’t really add up,” Bronn said, when Jaime didn’t continue.  “‘Cause I’ve been down to our place the last three nights you were supposed to meet me there and you’ve been hiding out in your fancy tower instead.  So it seems to me you _do_ wanna quit and weren’t gonna bother telling me.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Jaime insisted.  “But…”  He waved his hand in lieu of explaining, apparently under the impression that Bronn might let him off that easily.

Bronn took a step toward him.  “But _what_?”  He took another step, savagely satisfied when Jaime took a slight step back in tandem with him.  “What is it, Jaime?  D’you think you’re up to scratch now, don’t need a common sellsword to help you any more, is that it?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched.  “ _Obviously_ that’s not true,” he gritted out.

“What, then?” Bronn asked, stepping forward again.  He was only an arm’s length away now and he stopped, cocking an expectant eyebrow at Jaime.  “Can’t handle the thought that someone as lowborn as me can knock your golden ass into the dirt as many times as I want?”  

“That’s—”

“Or is it you can’t handle the fact that you _like_ it?” Bronn interrupted, giving Jaime a hard shove as he spoke.

Jaime’s knees hit the edge of his bed and he fell back, unable to get up again as Bronn followed him down and pinned him a second later, glaring at him. 

“You do, don’t you?” Bronn demanded.  He could already tell from the look on Jaime’s face that he had the right of it; he was flushed pink, eyes bright, and when Bronn ground down to pin him at the hips, he could feel him there again.

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime said unsteadily.  “This is...inappropriate.”

“But you _do_ like it.  I’m right, aren’t I?”  Bronn pressed Jaime’s wrists more firmly into the mattress beneath him to silently make the point that he wasn’t letting him up until he got answers.

“I think it’s fairly _obvious_ that you are,” Jaime said stiffly, turning his face away exactly as he had last time, refusing to look at Bronn.

Bronn smirked and deliberately ground down, rolling his hips against Jaime’s and struggling not to crow with triumph as Jaime let out a surprised, breathy little ‘ _ah_!’ of pleasure and tipped his head back.

“You like it...I like it...” Bronn observed.  “What’s inappropriate?”  Jaime wasn’t struggling to be let up, he noted, or telling him to stop.

“All of it,” Jaime breathed, turning to blink up at Bronn as he didn’t stop but continued to grind down against him, watching Jaime’s expression carefully.  His pupils were blown wide and his lips parted slightly, his breaths short and shallow.  Bronn was beginning to think the fact that it was _inappropriate_ was part of the appeal for him, as well.  

He was also beginning to think that Jaime must’ve gone rather a long time without release as he’d grown remarkably hard beneath Bronn in just a few moments.  Judging by the argument he’d half-overheard Jaime having with the queen (if the rumours were to be believed, of course), Bronn didn’t find that difficult to believe.  And he supposed it would be rather hard to do it yourself when your dominant hand was suddenly made of metal.

Bronn continued to rock against Jaime, altering his position slightly so he could grind down exactly where he wanted, and put more weight into his hands where they had Jaime’s wrists pinned.  “You like this, huh?” Bronn asked, leaning down into him and lowering his voice.  “I reckon I can get you to come just like this, Kingslayer, all in your fancy rich-man’s breeches like a squire boy his first time.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaime gasped out, arching up into Bronn.  “ _Gods_ , we shouldn’t do this.”  

He tried to push up against Bronn’s hands, trying to sit up and find some of his own leverage, but Bronn didn’t budge.

“No,” he said firmly, re-doubling his grip on Jaime’s wrists.  “Like _this_ , which is exactly what you fucking _want_ , isn’t it, _ser_?  That’s why you’ve been _hiding_ from me.  Like you didn’t know I’d give you exactly what you wanted if you just fuckin’ _asked_.  So you can ask me now, Kingslayer.  _Jaime_.  Tell me how much you want it or I’ll stop and leave you here.”  

Jaime’s eyes flashed fully open at that and he pressed up into Bronn with the tiniest smirk.  “You won’t,” he panted, sounding surprisingly confident for how breathless he was.  “You want me.  You want this, too.”

Bronn stilled immediately and knelt up so Jaime didn’t have anything to arch into or rub against.  “You think I won’t leave?  Like you’ve left me _three times_ to wait like a dumb cunt for a fancy princess who’s never gonna show?  I fuckin’ _will_ leave you here like this, Jaime Lannister.”

Bronn rolled off of Jaime as soon as he’d finished talking and Jaime sat bolt upright, grabbing his shirt with his left hand.  “Don’t go,” he said quickly, sliding to the edge of the bed and standing on unsteady feet as Bronn made to leave, his breeches tented uncomfortably around his crotch.

Bronn turned to him and grabbed Jaime’s wrist, prising his hand from his jacket but keeping hold of it in a death grip.  “Oh?  You want it, do ya?”  Bronn used his other hand to grab a fistful of Jaime’s tunic and yank him even closer.  “You _don’t_ want to wait around like a cunt?  So I take it you _will_ be showing up for your next sparring session?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaime said, and Bronn gave him a hard shake.  “I _will_ , I _said_ I didn’t want to quit.”

“Good,” Bronn said simply, and gave Jaime another rough shove so he fell back onto the bed again.  “And I’m doubling my fee ‘cause you’ve been a spoilt little shit all week,” he added, kneeling over Jaime and pressing a hand to his chest to pin him again.  

“Fine,” Jaime agreed instantly, hips bucking as Bronn took hold of him through his breeches with his other hand and squeezed hard enough to verge on painful.  

“Come on then, princess,” Bronn said, stroking him roughly.  “Ruin these fancy breeches for me.”

As though on command, Jaime threw his head back and let out a loud moan, shuddering beneath Bronn.  He pressed his hips up against him as Bronn continued to work his cock, squeezing and rubbing until Jaime’s entire body went limp under him while he lay there trying to catch his breath.

Bronn took his hand away and pointedly wiped the dampness off on Jaime’s tunic, smirking at the wet stain Jaime had indeed just left on his breeches.  

“Good boy,” Bronn said indulgently, mostly just to get a rise out of Jaime, though it didn’t work as he barely twitched at the phrase.  Bronn wasn’t sure he was quite back with it yet; he’d just come surprisingly hard given that all Bronn had done was grope him a little.    

“I’ll see you at the normal time in our usual place,” Bronn said, getting off the bed and tapping Jaime’s knee to indicate that he was talking to him.  “Jaime?  You listening?”

“Mmm,” Jaime hummed.  “I’ll be there.”

“You fuckin’ better be,” Bronn said.  “And bring those sparring swords with you.”

He left without another word, hurrying to the nearest whorehouse he knew; Bronn needed to fuck something as soon as humanly possible, preferably some kind of blond, highborn prick seeing as he couldn’t exactly have the real thing.

Not _yet_ , anyway.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They weren’t due to spar again for another three days, and during that time, Bronn wasn’t sure if he was avoiding Jaime, or if Jaime was avoiding him.  He _did_ know that he’d spent more coin than he typically liked to spend on whores on hiring the same blond man he’d fucked the night after his and Jaime’s...whatever the hell that had been.  Bronn had paid for him three times already because, although he was nothing to the real thing, he was a close enough fit to itch the scratch that was wanting Jaime.  Well, to itch it a little.  

Bronn was definitely in too deep, here.  The only way he knew to get this out of his system was to simply indulge in what he wanted, but that wasn’t really an option.  Probably not, anyway.  Bronn was trying not to entertain the thought that it _might_ be an option, if only to save his own sanity.

(Jaime _hadn’t_ seemed to take issue with Bronn’s being a man, though.  And he’d definitely enjoyed himself the other night, and the time before, though he’d ran away that first time rather than admit it.  Maybe just having him like that again would be enough to stop Bronn from constantly _thinking_ about it, because he was going to wear his own fucking dick out if he wasn’t careful.)

Fuck Jaime Lannister.  (And _fuck_ Jaime Lannister).  This was entirely his fault for being prettier than any man had any right to be.  

“Ugh, fuck _me_ ,” Bronn groaned to himself, as he realised that he had—yet again—fallen into the trap of _thinking about it_.  How he was supposed to _not_ think about fucking Jaime now that he knew exactly what his face looked like when he came, and how he sounded when Bronn took hold of his cock, and how pink his cheeks turned when he looked Bronn in the eye, and the way a moan shuddered through him while he lay beneath Bronn and arched up against him…

Yeah, Bronn was fucked.  

Still, it was good fodder, and once more wouldn’t hurt; he didn’t have anywhere to be right now.

Bronn flopped back onto his bed and unlaced his breeches to take himself in hand, closing his eyes and bringing the image of Jaime to mind again.  It was easy now, since Bronn had already recalled it so often.

(Had he mentioned that he was _fucked_?)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaime was just...not thinking about it.  _It_ being, of course, the unthinkable...event that had occurred, specifically the event that had occurred the second time the event had occurred (as the event had happened twice, now) and the individual it had occurred with.  Whom Jaime was not thinking about.

He was due to spar with him tomorrow night, though, and Jaime couldn’t make up his mind about going or not.  He should go.  Well, he probably shouldn’t go. 

But he _did_ need to train, he’d neglected practice for far too long now.  But it was bound to be terribly humiliating now that...well, now that _that_ had happened.  Not that Jaime was dwelling on any of it; he was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he had plenty to do; duties to attend, kings to guard.

(That was why he needed to train).

Jaime had been doing a fair job of avoiding anyone who might ask any questions or make things awkward (namely Cersei and Bronn himself), but his luck ran out the night before Jaime was due to meet Bronn for sparring.  As he traipsed back to his rooms after a long shift of standing at Tommen’s shoulder through court, councils, and walks through the gardens, Jaime finally opened the door of his chambers only to find that someone had already taken up residence inside.

“Dear brother,” Tyrion greeted, turning around with a wine goblet in hand and a smile on his face that Jaime misliked the look of.  “Would you like a drink?  I’ve sent for supper to be brought here, I thought you’d be hungry.”

Jaime leant against the door to close it behind him and watched Tyrion suspiciously.  “What are you up to?”

Tyrion’s eyebrows jumped up.  “Up to?”  He laughed.  “Can’t I simply want to spend time with my big brother?  If you’re busy, I understand—”

“No, it’s alright,” Jaime stopped him, immediately feeling bad as Tyrion had evidently gone out of his way to spend time with Jaime tonight.  “Sorry, long day.  Supper will be wonderful.”  In fact, dinner with Tyrion would be just the thing to stop himself from dwelling, and with a few glasses of wine he’d sleep soundly tonight, and he could worry about what to do about Bronn and sparring practice tomorrow.  

Jaime set about removing his armour while Tyrion poured him some wine and tactfully pretended not to notice him struggling with the buckles and clips.  Their father had been speaking to the armourer about having a new suit made, one that only required one dextrous hand to take off, but it wasn’t ready yet.  Instead, Jaime’s breastplate clanged unceremoniously to the floor when he didn’t manage to catch it in time and Jaime’s ears flamed red as he picked it back up and set it aside.  

“I’ll never understand how you knights do that without a squire handy,” Tyrion commented as Jaime came to sit down, casually sipping at his wine when Jaime glared at him.  “Oh, calm down,” he added, spotting the expression.  “Most knights can’t get out of armour on their own, let alone one-handed ones.”

“I could,” Jaime said, frowning down at the damned golden hand and thudding it dully against the tabletop.  “Before this.”

“Personally, I’m rather glad they only took your hand—they could have taken your _head_ , sweet brother, and who would have supper with me then?”

Bronn had said much the same thing, but Jaime still wasn’t sure it was a fair trade.  

“Or your manhood,” Tyrion added thoughtfully.  “Gods, I’d rather lose both hands and feet than that.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.  “Do you ever think with that giant head of yours, or just with your cock?”

Tyrion grinned at him in reply and Jaime couldn’t help but grin back.  

“I hear that our sweet king has found himself a litter of kittens to occupy himself with,” Tyrion said and Jaime glanced at him in surprise.  Sometimes it felt like Tyrion knew things half _before_ they happened, second only to the Spider himself.  “I can only imagine Cersei’s reaction to such an innocent waste of Tommen’s time.”

Jaime shrugged mock-helplessly.  “I’m sworn to guard the king’s secrets, including the location of Ser Pounce’s bed.”

Tyrion gave a delighted laugh.  “Ser Pounce!  I didn’t know _that_.  What about the others?”

“As yet unnamed,” Jaime replied, looking around as a servant knocked on the door and entered with a tray for their supper, followed by several more.  “Gods, how much food did you send for?”

“I’m feeling peckish,” Tyrion said, moving his goblet aside so a serving girl could set a plate before him.  “And you’re not the half-dead thing that returned to King’s Landing a few months ago, true, but you’re still too thin.”

“Imprisonment will do that to you,” Jaime muttered.  “I can’t believe I’m being mothered by my own little brother.”

“Am I doing a good job?” Tyrion asked impishly.

“Too good,” Jaime said.  “I almost expect Father to come in and start agreeing with you.”

Tyrion snorted and Jaime felt himself begin to relax, content to listen to the latest gossip Tyrion had to share and swap what little of his own he’d gleaned (not that Jaime had much to contribute, sworn as he was and also chronically disinterested in court intrigue).

They were nearly finished eating when Bronn first came up in conversation, Jaime now sipping at his third glass of wine.  He choked on it when Tyrion spoke.

“Bronn asked after you the other day,” he said, casually buttering a piece of bread and flicking a quick look at Jaime across the table.  “He said you’d been missing your sparring sessions with him.  Have you quit?”

Jaime shook his head and took a hasty gulp of wine to buy a few seconds of thinking time.  “No, no I haven’t quit.  I just...missed a session, is all.  We’re back to it tomorrow night, in fact.”

“Just one session?” Tyrion asked.  “Oh.  Bronn must’ve been over-exaggerating, he made it seem like there’d been a couple, at least.”

“Well, two sessions,” Jaime corrected, before gulping at his wine again.  “Maybe three.  I’ve been busy, you know how it is.”  Jaime forced a little laugh and set his wine down before he could finish the entire thing and ruin his morning tomorrow.

Tyrion narrowed his eyes.  “That’s unlike you,” he observed, watching Jaime intently over the rim of his goblet.  “Has something happened?”

“No!” Jaime said quickly.  “Nothing’s happened.  Well, except for sparring, of course.  That’s what Bronn and I do, after all.  We’ve just been sparring.  Well, not recently, obviously, since I missed some nights.”  Jaime forced his cup to his mouth to shut himself up, actually wishing for an emergency with the king so he’d have an excuse to leave and cut this conversation short before Tyrion engaged his giant brain and saw through Jaime’s mild hysteria.  

“Well,” Tyrion said.  “That’s good.  I hoped nothing was wrong; I like Bronn, and I think you will, too, if you give him a chance.  He’s a decent sort...deep, _deep_ down, provided you have plenty of gold, of course.  If it’s not working for you though, perhaps you should find someone else.”

“No, it’s—it’s working, ah, fine.  He’s—good.  He’s a good teacher,” Jaime said, nodding a little frantically and praying his face wasn’t heating up the way it felt like it was.  “He’s a little…”  

“Rough?” Tyrion supplied, and Jaime knew for a fact his face flushed then.  

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, picking his goblet back up and sipping gently at it just to have something to cover his face with for a moment.  He could feel Tyrion’s gaze on him but couldn’t bring himself to meet his brother’s eyes, instead reaching for a cake he didn’t particularly care for just to have an excuse to keep his focus elsewhere.  

“I suppose it must be a very different way of learning—he’s no Ser Broom, for sure,” Tyrion continued, swilling his wine.  Jaime was surprised Tyrion even remembered the name of the old master-at-arms of Casterly Rock; he’d certainly never trained with him.  “And no Ser Arthur Dayne.”

Jaime could _feel_ his face burning, then, and he silently cursed Tyrion for bringing up Arthur, of all people.  “Not like Arthur, no,” he managed to get out, picking the cake in his fingers to pieces and scattering them across his plate.  “He never had to teach me the basics, though.”

“Of course,” Tyrion agreed.  “You were already very skilled with a sword by the time Ser Arthur got his hands on you, weren’t you?”

Jaime didn’t reply for a second, resolutely keeping his eyes on the table.  He couldn’t tell if Tyrion was deliberately giving his words a double meaning, or if he was just being paranoid.  You never could tell with Tyrion, though there was no _way_ he could possibly know about Arthur; he’d been a child at the time, half a world away, and Jaime had certainly never told anyone.  “I suppose I was,” he said eventually, chancing a glance up at Tyrion to find that the other man was watching him like a hawk.

“Well, as long as it’s working with Bronn then there’s no matter, I suppose,” Tyrion said.  “Is your hand improving?”

Jaime gratefully clutched at the safer topic; he’d rather discuss being a cripple and confess to being useless with a sword than talk any more about Bronn.  “Slowly,” he said.  “My grip is better, I drop the sword less, but everything else…”  He shook his head.  “It’s frustrating.”  It was more than frustrating, it was _crushing_.  Every time Jaime fell in the dirt he could hardly bear to pick the sword back up and try again, knowing he could never get back what he’d lost, no matter how much effort he spent in trying.  “Perhaps I should give it all up and take the damned Rock, after all.  What’s one more broken vow?” Jaime asked bitterly, wondering if he’d rather talk about this than Bronn after all.

“Father would dance for joy,” Tyrion said.  “ _Lord_ Jaime.  Do you like it?”

“Not at all,” Jaime said honestly.  

“No,” Tyrion said.  “Lord Commander suits better.”

“A shame I can’t live up to that title any more,” Jaime replied, lifting the golden hand so it shone in the candlelight.  

Tyrion gave a tiny smile.  “Best keep practising, then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cornering Bronn was both easier, and more difficult.  Easier because Bronn was _Bronn_ , he was unlikely to take offence or clam up at literally anything Tyrion said so he didn’t have to worry about tip-toeing around the issue.  Difficult because he was a) much harder to find than Jaime, and b) much better at lying than Jaime.

Tyrion eventually found him in a whorehouse, picking a spot in which to wait as the sellsword was apparently still _occupied_ upstairs.  Tyrion wasn’t in the habit of spying on his friend, but fortunately for him (and likely unfortunately, eventually), Varys and his little spies could always be counted upon to know the most unlikely tidbits of information.  While the Spider hadn’t been able to tell Tyrion exactly where Bronn was tonight (though he could have, given time), he did know that Bronn had made a habit of visiting one particular brothel for the past few days.

He didn’t have to wait long; Tyrion wasn’t even halfway through his glass when Bronn jogged down the stairs, looking very pleased with himself and still adjusting his tunic.  Half a minute later, a blond man draped in fine silks and a pink flush stepped out from behind him and melted back into the room, circling for a new client.  The man didn’t look a _lot_ like Jaime, but finding a whore who did would be impossible.  The fact that he was a man at all was enough to make Tyrion confident in his guess that it was no coincidence; Bronn tended toward women for the simple sake of convenience—they were far more readily available in places like this, much cheaper, and caused fewer whispers.

Tyrion had to do no more than casually raise his glass for Bronn to notice him—he _was_ good at his job, Tyrion had never doubted him on that front.

“You’ve lowered your standards,” Bronn said, by way of greeting.

“Not true,” Tyrion countered.  “They’ve always been very low.  I hired you, didn’t I?”

“Cunt,” Bronn retorted cheerfully.  

“Walk with me, will you?  I find myself in need of a drinking partner who can keep up,” Tyrion said, downing the rest of his glass and standing.  

Bronn shrugged and fell into step with him without question.  “You’re paying.”

Tyrion took him to an inn barely better than the place they’d just left, but it was well-crowded and the two of them frequently drank together there, so their presence tonight was nothing notable.  Tyrion doubted anyone elsewhere would have much interest in his drinking conversations with a hired sellsword, but then, you didn’t last long in King’s Landing by relying on assumptions like that.  Besides, it wasn’t Tyrion’s affairs he wanted to discuss but Jaime’s, and Tyrion wasn’t about to be careless with his brother’s secrets.  Not that Jaime had confessed any secrets to him, but Tyrion was a master at reading between the lines, and rather well-versed at reading Jaime.

They got drinks and found a semi-secluded spot to hole up in, and Tyrion settled back to fit Bronn with a stern look.  “Are you fucking my brother?” he asked bluntly, his voice covered by the din of the rest of the room.

One of Bronn’s eyebrows went up in surprise before he snorted.  “If I was, d’you think I’d be spending all my hard-earned gold in a whorehouse?”  That definitely rang true to Tyrion, who was already satisfied that Bronn hadn’t tried to squirm around the question; it made for a far simpler conversation.

“ _Something_ happened, though,” Tyrion guessed.  “Jaime’s terribly embarrassed by the mere mention of you.”

“Is he, now?” Bronn asked with a little smirk.  “Might have something to do with his piss-poor sparring—you Lannisters and your pride.  A little embarrassment’s good for him.”

“I daresay it is,” Tyrion replied.  Jaime could still be very cocky, even after losing his hand; it wouldn’t hurt him at all to have a lowborn sellsword knock him about a bit.  “You know precisely what I’m talking about, though.”

Bronn grinned.  “Aye,” he said.  “I do.  I don’t see how it’s your business, though.”

“It’s not,” Tyrion agreed.  “But Jaime doesn’t understand the game, and you don’t understand our sister.  You’re going to get yourselves killed if you’re not careful.”

“She wouldn’t kill him,” Bronn said, rolling his eyes.

“You _don’t_ understand her,” Tyrion said, a little more sharply than he intended.  

It worked; Bronn grew more serious at once.  “He’s her brother.  Her _twin_ brother.  More, if—”

“Yes, thank you,” Tyrion cut him off.  “I’ve heard the rumours.”  The two of them had never been as subtle as they thought they were, which was precisely why Tyrion was worried for Jaime now.  “You must understand that Jaime is one of Cersei’s most prized possessions, and she is _very_ possessive.  If she can’t have him, no-one can.”

“Well, I haven’t had him, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Bronn said, waving Tyrion’s concern away and drinking half his drink in one go.  Tyrion believed him that he hadn’t, but wasn’t so convinced that Bronn wasn’t _intending_ to have him.

“You want him,” Tyrion stated.  

Bronn didn’t deny it.  

“Clearly something’s happened, and Jaime clearly _cares_ or he wouldn’t be out of sorts like he is.  You’re playing a very dangerous game, Bronn.  And I wouldn’t recommend playing against _her_.”

Bronn leaned forward.  “I’m not _playing_ anything.  There’s no game.”

“Not to _you_ ,” Tyrion said.  “You don’t understand because you only recently became a player; Jaime’s been a part of this for a long time, a pawn for Aerys, for Cersei, for our father, for the Starks.  He doesn’t know how to play.”  He _would_ if he just paid attention, but Jaime had always been content to ignore the inner workings of the court and coast along simply by being Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, son of Tywin Lannister, beloved brother of the queen.  Until recently, that had been enough.  But it hadn’t been enough to save his hand, and it wouldn’t be enough to save his head if Cersei ever caught word that Jaime had been unfaithful to her.

“He’s not stupid,” Bronn said.  

“I _know_ he’s not stupid,” Tyrion said at once.  “I’m not saying that.  He’s... _naive_ , in dangerous ways.  He can’t imagine the worst of people nearly well enough.  He’d never consider that Cersei would have his head, but she _would_ , Bronn.  Believe me, she will if she ever thought he’d betrayed her.”

Bronn frowned.  “Betrayed her _how_?” he demanded.  “What’s it matter to her who her brother fucks?”

Tyrion levelled him with a look.  They both _knew_ , but Tyrion wasn’t about to say it aloud.  “And the rest of the kingdom?” he asked.  “Do you think Jaime’s reputation would survive _this_ rumour spreading?”

“It’s survived worse,” Bronn shrugged.  “And it’s not like I’m fucking him on the floor in the throne room, is it?  I might be just a sellsword, but I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.  I’m not gonna get him killed.”  He paused, then gave a slight grin.  “Who’d pay me then?”

Tyrion saw through the jest immediately, pleased to hear how serious Bronn sounded—and uncharacteristically, for him.  Truthfully, he thought it would be a very good thing for Jaime to grow closer with Bronn—Cersei had always had far too much control over him—just as long as they could stop anyone else from finding out.  Fortunately for the two of them, they might both be terrible at playing the game, but Tyrion was a _master_ at it.

“No,” Tyrion agreed.  “You’re no idiot.  You know how to hide an affair, when you want to.”  Tyrion only knew about the wives of other men who were sleeping with Bronn because Bronn himself had told him.  “You would have to hide this, Bronn.  _Nobody_ could ever know.  You could never boast.”

Bronn rolled his eyes.  “Y’think I’m gonna fuck him and walk into the nearest tavern to tell everyone I meet?  I do _know_ who he is and how you highborns work.  I’m not trying to ruin his fuckin’ life.”

“I know you’re not,” Tyrion said placatingly.  “You’re not used to the sort of scrutiny he’s under, though.  He’s a Lannister, the queen’s brother; people spy on him.  You’ll need to be _very_ careful to make sure you aren’t followed or overheard.  It won’t be like it is with the wife of some small-title lord.”

“You think I’ve survived this long as a sellsword by letting people follow me around and spy on me?” Bronn demanded.  

“No, which is why I’m trying to _help_ you rather than having you thrown from the city before you can get my brother killed,” Tyrion retorted.  “You’re going to continue training him, I assume?”

“Aye,” Bronn said.  “If the little fucker shows up.”

Tyrion tipped his goblet back and downed the rest of his drink.  He ought to have paced himself a little better this evening, he was starting to get light-headed after drinking with both Jaime and Bronn.  “He will,” he said.  

“Oh?” Bronn hummed.  “Told ya, did he?”

“No,” Tyrion said.  Jaime hadn’t even made up his own mind yet, that much had been obvious.  “But I know my brother; he never could resist temptation.”  Tyrion stood and dropped a few coins onto the table to cover their drinks before meeting Bronn’s gaze.  “Be _careful_ , Bronn,” he said lowly, before tipping his head at the sellsword and turning on his heel to leave.    

Bronn waited a while longer, finishing the rest of his drink and mulling over what Tyrion had said.  There had been a fair few warnings in there, and they’d worked—Bronn _was_ a little nervous now about what would happen if anyone ever found out.  Not that anything had happened yet, but Bronn had every intention of pursuing this to the end.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel, as he stood to leave himself, that Tyrion had just as good as given Bronn his blessing to carry on with whatever the fuck this was.  And maybe Bronn wasn’t very good at playing court, Jaime either, but Tyrion was the cleverest person Bronn knew; if anyone knew how to outsmart Cersei and Littlefinger and every other cunt in King’s Landing, it was him.

He casually swiped two of the coins off the tabletop (Tyrion had left far too much) and left whistling a jaunty little tune to himself; best get a good night’s rest, tonight.  Jaime had three missed sparring sessions to make up for, and Bronn was going to make him feel every one of them.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bronn arrived early for their next sparring session, mostly because he’d spent his afternoon kicking around doing nothing but thinking about it and it felt more productive to walk down to the little platform than pace around his room.  Jaime wasn’t there, of course.  But Bronn was early, so that was expected.  Of course, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Jaime didn’t bother showing up—in fact, Bronn was pretty sure he wouldn’t; this whole thing had been far too good to be true.  

It _was_ a shame, though; everything that had happened (that _could_ have happened) aside, it was nice to have a regular sparring partner to practice with.  Bronn wasn’t exactly learning much, but it was always useful to go over the basics, and it was a good way to keep in shape.  And (though Bronn would never admit it aloud) there was an incredible rush of _pride_ every time he noticed how fast Jaime was improving, only ever dulled by how fucking hard Jaime was on himself every time he made the smallest mistake.  Plus it was nice just hanging out with him; they sometimes chatted, after, sitting on the low wall to catch their breath, or even occasionally venturing out for a drink.  And the money was good, of course.  So then to have Jaime squirming beneath him, flushed and aroused and arching up into him—well, _obviously_ it was too good to last.  Bronn never learned, always trying to take _just a little more_.  

He’d started pacing again, back and forth across the width of their sparring area, and he’d done such a good job of convincing himself that Jaime wouldn’t show that when Bronn turned on his heel and saw the other man at the bottom of the steps, he started in surprise.

“Jaime,” he let out, staring over at him.

“Am I late?” Jaime asked, stepping carefully down off the final step and waiting there, the bag with the sparring swords in slung over one shoulder.  

Bronn shrugged.  “‘Bout three sessions late, yeah,” he replied, heading over to him and taking the bag, pulling both swords out.  “Didn’t think you’d remember these, I brought spares,” he added, jerking his head at the swords he’d already dumped on the ground.

“You told me to bring them, so I brought them,” Jaime said, sidling around Bronn and grabbing one of the swords off the floor (he’d learned long ago to stop expecting Bronn to hand him one) before moving out to the middle of the floor.

“Oh?” Bronn said, smirking a little as he grabbed a sword for himself.  “So you _were_ listening, then?  Couldn’t get much sense out of ya.”

Jaime turned red immediately, his eyes widening.  He had assumed they would both ignore what had happened, carry on as usual and forget the whole thing.  (That was what Jaime had been planning on doing, anyway—it was, he’d found, the easiest way to deal with problems until they sorted themselves out somehow).  “Ah, well, I—” he stammered out, only to cut himself off and stagger backwards as Bronn lunged at him, swinging hard.

Jaime just managed to get his sword up in time to parry the blow, remembering to breathe a second later once the shock of the surprise attack had passed.  It was too late for him to go on the offensive so Jaime maintained a solid defense, planting his feet so Bronn couldn’t drive him back any further and concentrating hard on keeping up with the speed of Bronn’s attacks.  It become apparent very quickly that Bronn had actually been going easy on him in their previous sessions; he was different, now, raining down blows that Jaime didn’t have a hope of keeping up with.

After only a handful of minutes, Jaime was forced to start backing up as Bronn advanced on him, swords clanging together until Jaime didn’t lift his fast enough and caught a hard knock on his upper-arm.  Bronn immediately took advantage of the distraction to shove him and Jaime stumbled, managing to get his sword up to parry one further strike but missing the next, which caught him on the hip.

Jaime spun away from the hit, breathless, only to let out a loud, undignified yelp as Bronn smacked him across the ass with the flat of his sword the second he turned his back.  Jaime whirled back around, his face a picture of highborn indignity, and Bronn smirked at him.  “Put your back to me again and you’ll get another,” he warned.

“That _hurt_ ,” Jaime couldn’t help but protest.  

“Good,” Bronn retorted.  (What he wouldn’t give to _see_ the mark that had just left…)  He backed up a few steps and gestured at Jaime to come forward again.  “C’mon.  Sword up, princess.”

Jaime glared at him but raised his sword, stepping out to face Bronn again.  He was looking distinctly more flushed than he had a moment ago, and Bronn gave himself a quick moment to appreciate it before flying at Jaime again, swinging at him without a shred of mercy.

The ring of their swords remained steady, Jaime managing to hold his own through furious determination and an interesting combination of side-steps and little jumps.  It wasn’t the pretty fighting Jaime was used to, but it was a lot more effective than his _good form_ had once been; he managed to keep Bronn’s sword from landing a single hit for a good few minutes, until Bronn aimed a savage blow at his head that Jaime was forced to duck.

His sword tipped down as he lost focus and in the two heartbeats it took Jaime to straighten up, Bronn was already colliding with him.  They sprawled over onto the stone and Jaime let out a little huff as the breath was knocked out of him, but Bronn didn’t give him a chance to recover.  He rolled to his feet and grabbed Jaime by the back of his jacket, hauling him up and giving him a shove so he ended up a few steps away.

“Come on, get up.  Thought you were the Lion of fuckin’ _Lannister_?” Bronn taunted, smirking at the irritation that flashed over Jaime’s expression.  “Poor little kitten,” he cooed.

Jaime charged, that time.  

Bronn spun away from him and turned whip-sharp to slap Jaime with his sword again, just managing to catch him before he was out of reach. 

Jaime turned on his heel in a whirl of fury.  “Stop _doing_ that,” he growled, his golden hand dipping behind him as though it could do anything to soothe the smarting pain in his rear.

Bronn’s sword flashed in the sun as he attacked again, savagely pleased to see Jaime jump to action and bring his sword back up in time to fend off the blow.  “Good,” Bronn murmured, the blades of both swords scraping together as Bronn swung his around to bring it back down, aiming for a slice at Jaime’s thigh.

Jaime avoided it by leaping backwards, predicting Bronn’s try at pushing him and cutting down at his arm before he could, forcing Bronn to dance out of the way.  “ _Nice_ , Jaime!” Bronn let out, pressing back on the offense again immediately, delivering quick jabs one after the other, all of them deliberately shortened so as not to hit Jaime but instead force him to react to each one, not knowing which would be the one Bronn intended to slip through his defence.  

It must be that missing three sessions somehow helped improve one’s technique because Jaime managed to keep up with Bronn for a lot longer than he usually could.  It was only when his hand cramped around the hilt of his sword that Bronn managed to knock it clean out of the way and it clattered to the ground.

Jaime dived for it on instinct, only to let out a furious shout of ‘ _Bronn!_ ’ when the other’s sword _thwacked_ him again.  He turned to try and protect his ass from any further attack and Bronn took the moment to kick Jaime’s sword far out of reach before shoving his forearm into Jaime’s throat and propelling him backwards.

Jaime leaned back and ducked away, launching himself into Bronn’s middle and successfully unbalancing him, letting out a triumphant laugh as they crashed down again.  

It was a short-lived victory; Bronn wrapped both legs around Jaime and turned, dragging Jaime around and getting an arm around his head to keep him trapped until he managed to pin him properly, breathing hard.  

“Yield,” he demanded, and Jaime blinked up at him for a moment, breathless.

A second before Jaime did it, Bronn clocked what he was going to do and leaned back before Jaime’s lips could meet his, shoving his shoulders back against the ground.  “Nope,” Bronn said, though he made sure to grind down against Jaime where he had him pinned at the hips, smirking.  As he’d suspected, Jaime was already hard.  “You’ve got three missed sessions to make up for.”

“I— _what_?”  Jaime stared at him, baffled.

“Three sessions,” Bronn repeated, not missing the way Jaime’s hips were straining up to rut against him.  “I reckon you’ve covered about two so far.”  

Relishing every second, Bronn rolled off and got to his feet, leaving Jaime in the dirt, flushed and confused and very noticeably hard through his breeches.  

“Get up,” Bronn told him, grabbing the nearest sword and dropping it onto his chest.  

Jaime sat up, shaking his head.  “You’re not serious,” he said, then hastily scrambled out of the way as Bronn swung at him.

“Oh, I’m serious,” Bronn assured him.  He leaned down to grab Jaime by the collar of his jacket and yank him to his feet again.  “Get that fucking sword up and stop thinking about your cock.”

“I’m not—” Jaime tried, but hastily shut up in favour of defending himself from Bronn’s renewed attack.  It was more difficult now; Jaime’s focus _was_ on his cock, which was pretty impossible to ignore when Bronn took every opportunity to give him a rough shove or a swift slap with the flat of his sword.

“You’re doing—this—on— _purpose_ ,” Jaime huffed out, throwing himself out of the way of Bronn’s next blow and taking the second of Bronn’s recovery time to wipe sweat off his forehead.  

“Doing what?” Bronn asked innocently, rounding on him again and advancing.  

Three savage slashes with his sword and he’d managed to disarm Jaime again, stepping over the dropped sword and swinging his up press the point into Jaime’s throat.  Jaime automatically tipped his head away from the blade and went still, both hands going out at his sides to wordlessly surrender.

“Do you yield?” Bronn demanded again, breathing heavily after the long bout.  

Jaime caught his eye and for a moment, Bronn thought he was going to have to actually smack his thick head with the sword to get him to swallow his pride.  But then—

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaime growled out.  “I yield.”

Bronn tossed his sword aside at once, fisting both hands into Jaime’s tunic and wrenching him into a hard kiss.  Jaime let out a little gasp of surprise but pressed against Bronn immediately, kissing him back for a long second before they both had to break apart so they could breathe.  

“Wanted to do that for so fuckin’ long,” Bronn muttered, grabbing Jaime’s shoulders and yanking him down onto the stone floor, throwing himself down on top of him.  He knocked Jaime’s thighs wide apart so he could settle between them and caught his face in both hands, guiding Jaime’s mouth back to his own and kissing him more gently this time, tiny presses against his lips while they both caught their breath.  

Jaime’s left hand came up to grasp Bronn’s shoulder and he pushed up a little, trying to deepen the kiss but he was thwarted as Bronn pulled back just enough to stop him.  “ _Patience_ ,” Bronn coached against his mouth, keeping it chaste for an extra long moment more simply to wind Jaime up.  “You can’t just _take_ everything you want.”

Bronn moved, laying kisses across the corner of Jaime’s mouth, scratching across his stubble as he deliberately teased him by denying him what he wanted.  Only when Bronn had decided that Jaime had put up with enough did he slide one hand down to grasp his jaw and gently guide his mouth open, just grazing Jaime’s bottom lip with his tongue for another teasing moment before Jaime groaned and Bronn gave in, deepening the kiss properly.

Keeping his fingers tight around Jaime’s jaw, keeping his mouth open for him, Bronn pressed inward with his tongue while his other hand trailed down Jaime’s shoulder, along his side and down to the waistband of his breeches.  He did nothing but hook his fingers into the fabric, giving a slight tug - the way he was lying on top of Jaime right now made it impossible to push his hand further down just yet, but Bronn didn’t mind.  For all he’d been thinking of how Jaime looked when Bronn was rough with him, imagining taking him hard and fast while he stroked himself in the night, _this_ had sparked something else.  Lying with Jaime’s thighs bracketing his hips and his hand on Bronn’s shoulder, just holding on, made Bronn marvel suddenly at the idea of being _gentle_ with him.  

Jaime wasn’t pushing for more, now.  He was lying beneath Bronn and kissing him back with lazy ease, not even pushing up with his hips to seek friction as he instead dedicated all of his classic single-mindedness into simply being kissed.  

Had Bronn not just spent the better part of the evening working Jaime and himself into a state of furious arousal he might well have just lain there for hours doing nothing but _this_.  But he could still feel Jaime’s hardness beneath him, and his own erection was starting to demand more attention the longer Bronn kept at his task.

Jaime let out a tiny moan of protest as Bronn pulled away to adjust his position slightly, kneeling up so there was a little space between their bodies.  “Don’t worry, my little kitten, I’m not going anywhere,” Bronn assured him with a smirk, bracing one hand against the ground and untying Jaime’s breeches with the other, setting back to kissing him as he did so.  

He tugged Jaime’s breeches open so much that the laces pulled through several of the eyelets—they’d have to be re-laced before they left but Bronn couldn’t care less, taking Jaime firmly in hand and feeling more blood rush to his own cock at the way Jaime squirmed when he did.  

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaime hissed, tipping his head back and breaking their kiss.  He let out a shaky breath and his hips bucked upward as Bronn stroked him slowly, watching the play of expressions across Jaime’s face.  “Bronn—”

“You like that, princess?” Bronn asked him, pressing his lips back to Jaime’s again before he could respond.  

Jaime moaned his reply instead, catching his breath as Bronn’s fingers wrapped more tightly around him, keeping up the slow, steady pace of his stroking even as Jaime arched desperately into his hand.  

“I can…” Jaime said breathlessly, pulling his mouth away from Bronn’s for a moment and sitting up so they were chest-to-chest.  

Bronn leaned back to let him, not loosening his grip on Jaime’s cock but frowning at him, his hand going still.  “You alright?”

“Let me,” Jaime said.  Bronn hadn’t thought it would be possible for Jaime’s face to get any more flushed, but he’d been wrong; Jaime was steadily turning pink across his ears, cheeks, down his neck—it suited him.  “Let me, for you,” Jaime added, as though that clarified anything.  

“What?” Bronn asked, genuinely dumb-founded for a moment until Jaime’s left hand shyly brushed against the tented front of Bronn’s own breeches.  Bronn’s hips twitched at the touch and he let out a tiny breath of pleasure just at the _thought_ of having Jaime’s hand on him.  “Gods, _yes_ ,” Bronn said at once.  

“I’m not very good with my left,” Jaime warned him, proving that a moment later as he painstakingly worked at Bronn’s laces to try and untie them and getting precisely nowhere.

“Let me, for fuck sake,” Bronn said, letting go of Jaime and untying his breeches himself, taking his own cock in hand for a moment and stroking himself automatically.

Jaime’s eyes had gone wide as he stared down and then up at Bronn, swallowing noticeably.  

Bronn grinned.  “Been a while?”

“I assume the principle’s still the same,” Jaime said, trying to sound snooty and just coming across as nervous.  He bent his head so he could see what he was doing and Bronn kept his hands out of the way for a moment, letting himself enjoy it as Jaime’s fingers brushed awkwardly and uncertainly down his length before making a delicate fist.

“Let me help ya,” Bronn said, wrapping his own hand around Jaime’s on his cock.  He tightened both of their grip and started a regular motion up and down, not quite covering his entire length but enough to get Jaime used to the pace.  With his other hand, he began stroking Jaime again, and smirked as he leaned in to kiss him.  “Amazing having two hands,” he couldn’t help but jibe.  

Jaime didn’t even respond, just pressed forward to recapture Bronn’s mouth with his own.  His right hand pressed against Bronn’s elbow, then his side, trying to find somewhere comfortable and unobtrusive to stay.  Would that it were made of flesh once again, and it could do something _useful_.  

Bronn was working them at the same pace, helping Jaime’s hand back and forth as he stroked him in turn, methodically applying a little extra pressure and tightening his hand around Jaime’s.  He found it surprisingly arousing to do this with Jaime’s hand rather than his own, though it was much the same sensation; something about having that control over Jaime, guiding him to touch Bronn as Bronn most liked to be touched, Jaime _letting_ him.  

After a short while of it, Bronn realised that his hands had fallen out of time with each other.  He didn’t bother to fix it, keeping his fist loose around Jaime’s cock and moving it just enough to give Jaime the slightest edge of pleasure while beginning to stroke himself faster with both of their hands.

Jaime didn’t seem to mind, or realise; he was still breathless each time Bronn broke off from kissing his mouth to kiss him elsewhere for a few moments.  Helpful, as it meant his mouth was always open ready for Bronn when he wanted to push back inside with his tongue, yielding to him every time.

Bronn swiped his thumb over the tip of his own cock, where fat drops of precome had been leaking for a while, wetting Jaime’s hand with it as he ran their hands along his length.  He was beginning to speed up even more now, taking Jaime’s hand right to the tip of his cock and then right the way down to press against his balls.  Jaime was imitating the squeezing pressure Bronn had been exerting on his hand without Bronn needing to encouraging him to, now, so Bronn loosened his grip a little.  Then, rather than tugging Jaime’s hand back down on one stroke, Bronn guided Jaime’s fingers off of him, pressing them into the fluid that had again gathered at the tip of his cock.

“Go on, princess,” Bronn said, pulling back from their kiss just enough to talk, “get your hand nice and wet for me.”

Jaime let out a little gasp but he did as he was told, not resuming the kiss to instead look down and watch what he was doing as he ran his fingers over the slit of Bronn’s cock and smeared the wetness around as he began stroking again.  

Bronn let go of his hand entirely and Jaime kept up the same pace as before, a little less confidently but that shyness combined with the look of intense concentration Bronn could just see on Jaime’s face somehow made it all the better.

“Go all the way down, kitten,” Bronn murmured to him, pushing his hand to the very bottom of his cock so the side of Jaime’s palm brushed against the coarse hair there.  “That’s it.”  He let go again and paused for a moment, waiting to make sure Jaime kept up as instructed before taking Jaime’s cock back in hand. 

Jaime jerked a little, tipping his head back up, his green eyes dark and blown wide.  Bronn smirked and stole him for another kiss, stroking him fast and hard, the calluses of his palm rough against the sensitive skin.  Jaime was leaking all over the place, soaking Bronn’s hand and making the slide that much easier.  He wasn’t going to last much longer.

Bronn was close to finishing, himself, and he slowed down on Jaime—if his reaction last time was any indication, Jaime would be useless as soon as he was done and Bronn wasn’t about to finish _himself_ off when he had the golden cunt right here with his hand literally on Bronn’s cock.

“Come on, princess,” Bronn said, beginning to thrust his hips a little, pushing himself back and forth inside Jaime’s fist.  “I’m nearly there—bit harder, now—that’s it.”  He took Jaime’s hand in his own once again and squeezed properly, jerking himself off as he would if he was alone in his room, but with Jaime’s hand inside his.

Bronn’s mouth crashed into Jaime’s once again as he came, keeping up the rhythm of both their hands for as long as he could stand it before letting go and pushing Jaime back down onto his back.  

They were both breathing hard, and now that Jaime was no longer so focused on Bronn, his hips were straining upwards.  “ _Bronn_ ,” he groaned out, his boots scraping against the floor as he squirmed.  “Come _on_ ,” Jaime demanded, letting out a tiny growl of frustration as he tried to take himself in hand only to have Bronn knock his hand aside.

“Got a little reward for ya,” Bronn told him, leaning in to kiss him one last time before shuffling down Jaime’s body.  He gave no further warning before opening his mouth around Jaime’s cock and sinking down onto him, sucking hard as he pulled back up.

“What are— _fuck_ ,” Jaime cried out, his metal hand clanging loudly against the stone as he flung his arms up then down, not sure what else to do with them.  “Bronn, _Bronn_ , I can’t—”

He couldn’t form any words at all, struggling to keep his hips steady and not thrust up into the wet heat of Bronn’s mouth.  Bronn chuckled around him, the sound of it sending vibrations through his throat and mouth that had Jaime moaning like one of Baelish’s whores.

He didn’t last long.

Bronn dipped down once more and as he came back up, Jaime managed to get out a ‘Bronn, I—’ of warning before he came with a shout, his back arching and hips pressing up, mindless of everything but the pure heat that rushed through him, the sound of waves crashing through his skull as the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Bronn pulled off of him and turned to one side to spit the mouthful of Jaime’s release onto the stone, grinning to himself as he watched Jaime flop bonelessly against the ground, eyes closed.  He quickly sorted himself out and re-fastened his breeches, wiping his mouth on the back of one hand while Jaime just focused on remembering how to breathe.

Once he was done, Bronn rolled over back onto Jaime, kneeling up over him and peering down at his face.  “ _Jaaiime_?” he sing-songed.  “You still with me, princess?”

“Mm.”  Jaime sort of half-nodded and grunted his response, not bothering to so much as open his eyes.  

“Right,” Bronn said with huff of laughter.  “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

He moved so he was poised above Jaime’s knees and tucked him back into his breeches, carefully taking the ends of the laces in hand and threading them back through the holes, criss-crossing them properly so Jaime wouldn’t have to try and re-do it later with one hand.

By the time he was done, Jaime was blinking blearily up at him, squinting a little in the setting sun.  

“Thanks,” he said, as Bronn tugged the ends tight and deftly tied them together.  

“Least I could do,” Bronn replied, giving Jaime’s thigh a light, affectionate slap before he stood up.  “C’mon—I dunno about you but I’m starving.”

Jaime sat up and made a face, wiping his hand off on his breeches before he got to his own feet and turned to collect the sparring sword he’d dropped earlier.  “Erm, so…” he began, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with the sword still in hand, swinging it carelessly behind him.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bronn stopped him, grabbing his own sword and starting towards the steps that led back up to the city itself.  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Obviously,” Jaime responded, trailing after him.

“Right, so did I.”  Bronn stopped to turn and look at Jaime, arching his eyebrows pointedly.  “So stop trying to overthink it.”

“But—”

“Shut up,” Bronn growled at him.  “Or I’ll whack you with this again,” he added, indicating his practice sword.

Jaime scowled at him.  “Just _try it_ , sellsword,” he retorted.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” Bronn shot back.  Not that he needed any reason other than that perfectly round ass just _existing_ near him, but still.  “Come on, I gotta get back, got supper with your brother tonight.  You wanna come?”

Jaime arched an eyebrow at him.  “I _really_ don’t think that’s wise,” he said.

Bronn snorted.  “Probably not,” he agreed, though Tyrion had worked out plenty by himself as it was.  “Same time, same place, then,” he said.  “And if you skip out on a session with me again, there’ll be hell to pay.  And a shitload of gold.”

“I won’t,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes.  “I’ve _said_ I won’t.  Besides,” he added, with a slight smirk and a glint in his eye that made Bronn _immediately_ up for a round two, “I think I need the practice.”

Bronn nearly missed a step at that, positive that the double-meaning there had been deliberate (especially given the flush that had overtaken Jaime’s face once again the moment the words were uttered).  

“Aye,” he agreed with a grin.  “I think ya do.”

And Bronn was nothing if not a dedicated teacher; he was _more_ than willing to make time to _practice_.

 

 


End file.
